Saved
by Ladvarian
Summary: Sam muses over Castiel and what it means that something has taken an interest. The rating is in case i decide to add to this.


Saved  
AN: Spoilers for Lazarus rising, basically. Don't read it if you plan on watching the latest season and haven't started yet.

Truthfully, Sam didn't know what to think of Castiel.

He and Dean, they'd been hunting together for long enough that it had got natural, become more than something they did, become a part of who they were. Salt across the door frames and the window sills, a car boot full of weapons and trunkful of books on dead languages and slightly less dead monsters. But never an Angel in the backseat, waiting in the wings in case things got too sticky, waiting to pull his brother back out of hell. Their life wasn't a crusade- well. It wasn't for God. Maybe for revenge, possibly for love, probably because there just wasn't anyone else to do it. Least ways, they hadn't thought there was. Seemed like they were wrong on that one- there were others. They just hadn't bothered to show up until now.

You didn't need a divine order to go kick some demon's ass when you had gun in one hand, a knife in the other and your brother at your brother at your back, not when your brother was Dean, and certainly not when you'd both had to spend the night in the car because the bastard you were hunting didn't have the decency to set up shop somewhere near a hotel or a gas station.

Sam grimaced and shifted his grip on the shotgun, inching down the hallway. The floorboards complained as his weight eased from one foot to the other and then the wall exploded.

He'd always been willing to believe in God. Ready and waiting for some kind of faith to knock him over the head and shake some sense into crossing the country and hitting things with iron sticks or wooden stakes. He'd thought belief would make it easier to handle. Course, it was like Dean said. You wiped away the platitudes, the bullshit "mysterious ways" and "ineffable plans" and you were left better off thinking that God didn't exist, and even if he did, he sure as hell wasn't on your side. After all, if demons feel the urge to waner all over the place, then why the hell doesn't someone upstairs do something about it. Sam'd always told himself they just couldn't see it. Always kept it quiet in the back of his mind that maybe things were being done, maybe the world wouldn't have stood a chance if all it had defending it was a bunch of hunters.

And then Castiel showed up.

Though, it wasn't like the guy made it his business to help out when, say, buildings started to fall on top of you an your brother was, supposedly, still in the basement. Sam had made down the end of the hallway, wiping plaster dust out of his eyes and yelling Dean's name. One hand brushed against the still-intact wall, the fading floral wallpaper lit by what had to be the oldest electrical wiring in the state. It'd be next to go, some theatrical flickering and hey, darkness. He dropped his hand from his eyes and fumbled for the torch in his pocket, peering down the stairs at the end of the hallway.

Dean didn't trust that Castiel was an angel, he'd said as much to Sam and Bobby even after they'd sent the Witnesses back, even after all the talk of prophecy and apocalypse. And then something had changed and Dean had got quieter than normal. He'd wake up early sometimes, confused. As if he couldn't quite understand where he was, how he'd gotten there. Sam didn't like it. Couldn't think of what else Castiel could be, though. Couldn't help but hope that maybe they wouldn't have to fight this thing just with what they had in the car, what they could find in libraries an what hunters they could scrounge up who weren't dead or retired.

Then again, when he trips himself down the stairs and his torchlight finds Dean flat against the basement wall with some big bastards hands on his throat and he manages to use his own hand from a distance of three meters and no words to choke up a thick black fog that scores the cement floor, he can't help but wonder where it all leaves him, anyway.

There's an angel keeping Dean out of hell, and sometimes Sam can't help but think that he was the reason his brother wound up there in the first place, that he's taken lessons from a demon and he's using something he got from hell in the first place and all this means he's probably not high on some angel's list of people to keep alive.

And now that Dean knows he hasn't been keeping all of his promises, well.

Sam doesn't know what to think of Castiel, sure. Right now he doesn't know what to think of himself either. But he just got Dean down from a basement wall and his brother's still breathing, so all in all, tonight's and win and he'll take a lecture over a demon any day.

He'd just like to know why Castiel wants Dean alive so badly, what's been planned for them this time.

* * *

So, this could have another chapter somewhere, but i don't know yet. How cool is Castiel! And i have no idea how to spell the guys name .


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